


Vita dalla Morte

by Zelos



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Closure, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelos/pseuds/Zelos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had both lived for far too long, and would continue to do so.  The thought wearied him.</p><p>A sketch of Yuan and Kratos' relationship.  Post-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vita dalla Morte

**Author's Note:**

> The title means 'life from death'.
> 
> Backstories, quotes and characterizations have been taken from Tales of Symphonia, ToS: Dawn of a New World, Drama CD: A Long Time Ago, and Tales of Fandom: Vol. 2. Ergo, all Kate's interactions with Kratos and Yuan stand as canon in my head.

“I...” Kratos shifted faintly, his voice but a murmur. “I...never said thank you.” He did not look at him.

“Hmph.” A smile twitched Yuan's mouth, bitter and weary. They...had been a lot to each other, over the many, many years. Comrades. Brothers. Friends. Enemies. Allies and adversaries and back again. They fought against each other during the Great War, saved each other's lives more times than could be counted, and in the ensuing millennia nearly killed each other as many times.

They were far more alike than they had any right to be, the only two left who'd fallen from grace. They'd both watched their adopted little brother deteriorate into a desperate madman, followed Mithos' wretched path marked with blood and sin, watched the light die out in each other's eyes. Kratos carried Anna's memory like a chain around his neck; Yuan did the same with Martel's ring.

After saving the world and nearly ending it, on the same and opposite sides, what was there left to thank for?

Derris-Kharlan drifted above them, purpling the sky and everything beneath it. Yuan, more than anyone else, understood Kratos' choice. Yuan has the Renegades and Martel to look after. Lloyd, for all that Kratos cared for him, was more than Kratos could stand to be with. Both of them, too close to what they want, not close enough to touch.

This was the better way – mercy and damnation both. And justly deserved. Someone has to look after the lifeless beings Cruxis created, and the new World Tree. It might as well be them.

They had both lived for far too long, and would continue to do so. The thought wearied him.

“What will you do now?” _Do you want to come with me?_

“...I don't know.” _No._

A flicker in the distance; both glanced over. Lloyd, running over in that damnably red jacket, conviction-bright. The son, coming to say goodbye.

Yuan turned for the shadows. He paused mid-step, met Kratos' gaze. “Goodbye, my friend.” The admission surprised even himself.

Kratos, startled into silence, stared back. Then, for the first time in nearly 4,000 years, Yuan saw Kratos smile.

When Kratos disappeared in a flash of blinding light, Yuan felt loss he hadn't felt since Martel died.

 

Surprisingly, Kratos did call. To ask about Lloyd, the world, everything and everyone he left behind. And damn him for knowing that Yuan'd keep tabs for him. He always did seem to know everything.

"How is...everyone?" Yuan asked. For all he was unable to spend the rest of eternity up in that graveyard of lost souls with only Kratos as company, he did feel some guilt towards the ones left to drift away in Mithos' final resting place.

“Well,” Kratos answered, with the same quiet sadness he felt. “How is...?”

He couldn't even say the word. Yuan spared him. “Lloyd's fine. He is proceeding with his Exsphere hunt with Colette; Regal Bryant has resumed the presidency of his company and has been giving them information to aid their search.”

“What of the world?”

Yuan resisted a sigh. “Tensions are rising between the two...worlds.” After so long, it felt strange to call them otherwise. “The Tethe'Allan Chosen and that girl from Mizuho are doing what they can, but. Some things don't change.”

“They will,” Kratos said softly, and he wondered how Kratos could speak with such conviction, when the very circumstances that began their journey and Mithos' hatred were unfolding yet again? For all they were friends and equals over the years, Kratos has never _been_ a half-elf.

“I hope so,” Yuan answered shortly, before he made his excuses and terminated the call.

 

“He left your sword with Anna,” Yuan told Kratos, and watched dark eyes soften with wistfulness and pain. He understood; they were opposites and still kindred, down to the tragedies of the ones they loved.

During that infinite, gossamer moment with the last man he'd call friend in this damnable world in his arms, as he flooded as much mana as he dared into a body on the cusp of death, Yuan felt _fear_. And when that body shuddered with what was _not_ a last breath, he'd felt _relief_ he hadn't known he was capable of anymore.

Kratos was the last man standing, the only one who'd understand. The thought of slogging through eternity alone was almost more than Yuan could bear.

“...I see.” Carefully neutral. Kratos' gaze flicked away. “He'll have a hard time finding another blade to match his father's.”

“You're his father too, you know,” Yuan pointed out. “You damn well _sound_ the part.” He'd meant it snidely; it came out warm.

(He was actually _teasing_. How absurd. Such things were relegated to dusty remembrances from the annals of memory.)

Kratos blinked at him, then smiled that slow, faint smile that Yuan'd seen more and more from him in recent days. “Perhaps.”

The call was succinct and efficacious; Yuan has had lots of practice in efficiency, despite his unlimited years. Just as he ran out of routine reports and political rumours, Kratos interrupted him, non-sequitur: “How are...you?”

Yuan studied him for a moment. “...fine.” It was odd how, despite their beginnings in opposite armies, their lifetimes' worth of attempts to end each other's lives, Kratos was still the only one who'd ask.

Kratos considered this, then seemed to accept it. “Take...care.” _Of him, of yourself._

“Yuan out.” _..._ _I will._

 

In that moment before Origin's judgement, holding each other up like they haven't done in millennia, Yuan briefly entertained the thought of their deaths. The world was in more capable hands than theirs anyway; they'd already done their share in saving the world. So what if abandoning said world after damning it was the coward's way out? Neither he nor Kratos ever claimed to be heroes.

But...no. Martel would've wanted better. For them, for Mithos, for the world. And as wearying as 4,000 years had been, betraying her consciousness in an inanimate prison had been far, far worse.

Keep on keeping on. If nothing else, he owed her that much.

Owed Kratos as much, too.

(He would not let him look cool/sacrifice himself/suffer eternity alone.)

 

He returned, sometimes, to the ruins of the Tower, studied the edifices of an age time has forgotten, of dreams reduced to rubble, the place his last living friend stood before leaving everything behind.

There was probably some wretched symbolism in there, somewhere.

He carried with him a small piece of stone – a reminder of hopes worn away, the responsibility to those yet to come. The Tower had brought no salvation to any of its worshippers, but it did bring hope, empty though it may have been.

Yuan tried to remember that, tried to remember that once, he'd cast hope there too.

 

“Kate sends her regards.”

Kratos' eyes widened slightly. “You told her?”

“Some. Not a lot.” Yuan half-shrugged. “She asked.”

“...ah.” Kratos looked thoughtful. “How is...Ozette?”

“Not like Luin.” Yuan paused, then allowed, “but...in progress.” The town would take years to rebuild, the hearts and trust of the people even longer. But Kate was trying. They all were.

“That'll have to be enough.” Kratos sounded wistful. “At least for now.”

“You really believe the world can change?” 4,000 years and change, and Yuan hasn't seen much difference in the world. Granted, there were ones like Lloyd and his friends (and Kratos himself, way back then) who viewed others as people first and to hell with the details, but those were few and far between. Maybe Mithos' and Cruxis' method wasn't the way to go about it, but Yuan's not convinced there was a way at all.

“...we can only hope," Kratos admitted after a moment. “But yes, I do think so.”

“Haven't seen much improvement, even after all this time.” Lloyd's group _tried_ ; Yuan'd give them that much. And yet...so little actual change. So little progress. So, so much blood, and prejudice, and ugly, black hate.

“ _You_ believe,” Kratos countered, with that quiet, maddening perceptiveness that had been the bane of his existence during their travels together. “Would you be here if you didn't?”

Yuan snorted, and did not reply. The long years had done a lot to hone his patience and mellow his temper, but Kratos would always be the calmer of the two men.

After a pause, Kratos continued, “It is a slow process, to be sure. But...they will. Hearts – ”

“ – and minds,” Yuan finished. That had been Martel's line. Damn him.

“There's still time,” Kratos reminded him.

“Too much,” Yuan said sharply, because of course there was, they lived forever, didn't they?

“...I'm sorry.”

Yuan shook his head, suddenly tired. “Don't be.” Because he was right, wasn't he?

There was a long silence, broken by Yuan making a fist, stared hard at the jewel glittering on the back of his hand.

“Someday,” and he couldn't quite look at Kratos as he said this, “after...everything, I...”

Kratos smiled, that sad, gentle, weary smile. “Yes. And I as well.”

 

 _Old soldiers have only to pass away,_ he'd said, once.

Yuan was not afraid of death. He'd told Kate as much, when Kratos made his stupid/noble/cowardly/regretful decision to walk into death at the hands of his son: they had both lived for far too long. They'd both been chasing death, in their own ways; for all he couldn't bring himself to kill Kratos that once, he'd been ready to finish the deed a dozen more times. Really, eternal sleep seemed easy, compared to what came next.

Yuan was not afraid of death. He was afraid to _lose_. They'd come too far and fallen too hard; people disagreed whether the end justified the means (and after four millennia, even his views has changed), but if one didn't achieve the end, there wasn't even a debate.

And yet...

“Can't you look after him for me?” A father's love, and hope, and pride, traversing even the cold vacuum of space. Yuan envied that, a little.

“Talking like a parent, now?” _Who'd look after you?_

Once upon a time, living seemed more a punishment than death, for all neither of them were able to end each other's (or even their own) lives. And it was still so little compared to who they used to be, who they should've been...

But now, watching life and light creep back into two damned souls, watching rueful grins broaden into faint chuckles, the last motes of humanity left for these heroes/sinners/men the world has forgotten...

For better or for worse, choosing to live had been _right_.

 

Someday, they were both going to remove their Cruxis Crystals and die the death they'd cheated for millennia. But Kratos has a civilization to settle first, and Yuan has the World Tree to guard. But eventually, when their unfinished business was finished and the universe became ready, both would join their friends in oblivion, and let their children live on. If all goes well, Martel's spirit will live forever in the World Tree, but even she wouldn't damn him to follow her for eternity.

Fools wished to live forever, but they would never understand the relief of having reached the ending. Kratos and he may not reach it at the same moment, but they would reach the same end.

“Farewell, my friend,” they said, before Kratos was swallowed forever by the vast emptiness of space.

If 4,000 years had been a long time to test the mettle of their friendship, at least they did succeed.

 

Once upon a time, Kratos had been a brighter, happier man. Yuan had been, too. Mithos, once upon a time, understood the meaning of hope. They all did.

As the transmission flickered out, Yuan wondered if he and Kratos weren't becoming such, again.

**Author's Note:**

> More stream-of-consciousness and half-conversations than anything, but their relationship is, I think, defined as much by things unsaid as well as said. I always did find it unfair that in the OVA/games/additionals (drama cd, Tales of Fandom vol. 2) that Kratos and Yuan never said goodbye when he left – 4,000 years of being friends/enemies counts for more than that. Granted, they kept in touch, but.
> 
> I love the contrast between the two: Kratos, the taciturn one, the passive fatalist who ends up in exile and hope; Yuan, the cynic, once-mercurial, now-ruthless man, who'd nevertheless tried his best to do what's right...even if he can't quite believe it'd change.


End file.
